


City of Death: The 20th Hunger Games

by MoonlightSalsa



Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, Violence, musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25913587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightSalsa/pseuds/MoonlightSalsa
Summary: "In a situation where one could potentially lose their life, it is not unheard of for them to develop a more pragmatic or violent approach in order to ensure their survival."
Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692511
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**District Eight Male**  
_Norris Manning_

 **Day Two, 8:45 AM**  
_22 Hours, 45 Minutes since Game Commencement_

It’s so hot out here. The pavement is absolutely baking in the sun. It hurts to walk on it. My bare feet feel like they're being roasted. That's what I get for taking off my shoes, and then leaving them behind during the bloodbath yesterday. 

I tend to be more comfortable when I'm not wearing shoes. I like my feet to be able to move properly. Having them be all sweaty and cramped in the confines of shoes does not appeal to me in the slightest. That's why I took them off during the bloodbath. I had to balance carefully on my pedestal while doing so, so I didn't fall to the mines below. 

I ended up dropping them during the chaos that commenced upon the gong’s ring. I really regret that now. 

My feet feel like they've been set on fire. I'm practically hopping as I make my way down the street. 

The arena’s a ruined city this year. There are lots of old and crumbling buildings surrounding the street I'm on. Most of them are very tall. Earlier I passed by one that was covered in windows, most of which were cracked or broken in some way. I stopped for a while to look at myself, passing the time by pulling funny faces at my own reflection before I got bored of that and kept on moving. 

This place is actually quite boring. None of the buildings I've been in had anything particularly interesting in them. A lot of them were near-empty. This is what they don't tell you about the Hunger Games: they're _so unbelievably_ boring most of the time. 

I wonder if those back home are just as bored watching as I am actually experiencing it. I bet they are, especially my brother, Eliot. He could never sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. He was always restless when he was bored. I get pretty restless, too... Well, I’ve been walking around for quite a while and I would actually like to take a rest now, for once. 

That's a little ironic. 

I come across a mechanic’s workshop, or whatever they're called. Those places where they fix up cars. I look in through the wide entranceway and can see all sorts of tools laying about, as well as two rusted cars still parked inside. I grin as I make my way towards them. Maybe I can lay down in the back seat of one of them and actually sleep on a nice soft surface. 

The concrete floor, cooled by the shade, is refreshing and feels good on my side feet. I walk over to the nearest car, which may have once been white or silver but is now covered in rust, and peer through the window. The back seat is made of leather, and it seems to have a big rip down the middle, revealing the stuffing inside. Looks as good a place as any to rest. I'm exhausted and not feeling particularly picky. I go to open the door. 

I only register the rapid footsteps coming up behind me once I catch sight of something reflected in the window, but by then it's too late. 

I slam against the side of the car then drop to the floor as I scream in pain, my head hurting horribly! I struggle to my feet, only to be knocked down by only god-knows-what. 

I want to get out of here, away from whoever is attacking me. I drag myself across the floor as quickly as I can, hoping I can escape. I can feel something gross and sticky and unpleasant dripping down the back of my head and neck and it makes me even more terrified, knowing that I'm injured and might die because of it. 

I hear footsteps behind me once more, and I move faster, as fast as I can. The burning sunlight is approaching, I'm almost there, I can make it- 

But then something slams into my head again, and I realise with a horrifying fright that I'll never make it.


	2. Chapter 2

**District Eleven Female  
** _Lynette Bloom_

**Day Four, 11:56 AM  
** _4 Days, 1 Hour, 56 Minutes since Game Commencement_

I'm scared. 

The world feels too still. I'm the only one moving around, as far as I can see. And the only sounds I hear are my footsteps, and the wind whistling through the streets and buildings. 

I hate this arena. I wish it were something more familiar, such as a forest, or even an orchard. Terrain I know. 

But this ruined city is scary because I don't know anything about it. Something could be hiding in any one of the buildings I pass and I'd never know. All these buildings, tall and sturdy and so urban, feel so alien to me. We don't have anything like this back home in Eleven. 

I'm pacing around in a sunbathed spot in an alleyway. I'd spent the past few days hiding with my district partner, Dion, in what I'm pretty sure was some kind of market, before Dion got attacked by these horrible bird mutts that managed to get in, somehow. I left, of course, but that was a few hours ago and I'm not sure what to do now. 

Common sense tells me that I should find someplace else to hide, but the fact that those mutts were still able to get in tells me that being inside doesn't mean I'll be safe anymore. But I know that I can't stay out in the open, otherwise I'll be found, and not just by the mutts… 

Oh, what to do? What to do? 

Wait… 

What's that? 

I press myself against the brick wall of the building I'm standing by as the sounds of multiple pairs of footsteps approach me, accompanied by chatting and laughing. 

That must be the Careers! 

Immediately, my heart begins to race. They're probably going to find me! And kill me! They might even torture me before they do so! 

My mentor, Roland, told me that I should stay as calm as possible, and that panicking does no one any good. I try to take his words to heart, but it's beating too frantically to take any note. 

Before I even realise what I'm doing, I'm already running away, back down the alley and out the other side. As I run into the next street over I hear those footsteps coming after me, giving chase. They're yelling too, taunting me, saying things like “We’re gonna get you!” in a sing-sing kind of voice. 

It all just makes me run faster. 

I can feel tears pooling in my eyes. I don't want to die! 

I run into another alley and immediately dart round the corner of the building at the other end. Without even thinking about it, I zoom into the building and duck out of sight behind a rusted car inside. 

Then, I hold my breath as the footsteps approach. 

And I let it out when I hear them recede in the distance. Good! They hadn't seen me enter. I'm safe. 

For now, at least. 

As I catch my breath, I look around. I seem to be in one of those places that fixes up cars. I've never seen a place like this before. It smells funny too, like a musty scent and also what has to be oil or gas or something like that. I don't know what it is, I don't know anything about cars. 

I get to my feet and peek out the entranceway. The coast seems to be clear, but you never know. Anything could be lurking out there, just out of sight. 

I decide it couldn't hurt to stay here for a few more minutes, just to make sure I'm really safe. This place does appear to be empty though, so I'm sure I'll be fine. 

I wander over to a nearby workbench. It's littered with tools, most of which I can't identify, as well as old food wrappings and dusty sheets of paper. My mind starts to wander as I imagine the people who worked here, using these very rooms to fix up cars in all sorts of shapes and colours. Eating food and leaving the rubbish here, intending to throw it away later. Using the paper for… something, I guess. 

Then I catch sight of something unusual. 

The entire workbench is very dusty, however there's a spot where there's no dust at all. It's in the shape of what I assume to be a tool of some kind. 

But I can't see a tool of that shape anywhere else around me. 

Where did it go? 

The realization hits me - _someone else is here_ \- and I spin around to leave, not wanting to stick around any longer. 

I don't even make it halfway before footprints run up behind me and then suddenly I'm on my knees clutching the back of my head. 

I scream as I start to cry in pain. My hands come away bloody and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I'm knocked to the ground and I scream even louder as I feel something repeatedly come down on my head, over and over and over again. I can barely think, because _oh god it hurts so much!_

_I don't want it to die! Please don't let me die like this!_

I can hear my own voice growing more garbled by the second. Bloody tears obscure my vision and I just want this whole nightmare to end, please! 

And end it does.


	3. Chapter 3

**District Two Male**   
_Mercury Grey_

**Day Eight, 5:23 PM**   
_8 Days, 7 Hours, 23 Minutes since Game Commencement_

After eight days of nothing going right for me, I have at long last reached the final two. It's just me, and that little twerp from… uh… Well, I actually don't remember what District he's from. I'm not good at remembering things like that. What I do remember is that he insisted everyone call him… what was it? Stickshift, or something like that? Anyway, stupid name for a stupid kid. 

I can already hear the trumpets signalling my victory. And I can practically feel the Victor’s crown being placed upon my head. I absolutely deserve it, too. 

Nothing in these Games have gone right for me. First two of the other Careers died during the bloodbath. Then some wily outlier twerps somehow managed to steal a lot of our supplies while we were out hunting. Then, whenever we spotted another tribute, they always managed to evade us, meaning we never got to kill anyone; the outliers killed themselves off. And then, to top it all off, our alliance turned on one another, and now it's just me left. 

So when I find this Stickshift, I'm going to enjoy slicing him up. 

I'm at the cornucopia, waiting for the inevitable showdown. The sun’s setting, and it's actually quite pretty. It's nice to simply sit back and enjoy it without anyone nagging at me about it. My District partner Merrin, rest her soul, said that my problem was that I keep letting myself be distracted. I don't know what she's on about. What's wrong with having a rest every once in a while? 

I lean against the side of the silver horn, arms behind my head. I'm feeling quite relaxed, with a full belly, a beautiful view and a nice long break, but I'm also excited for what's to come. 

I can already imagine myself stabbing what's-his-face with my sword, seeing the life drain from his body, knowing that in doing so I've brought honour to my District. 

I close my eyes and let out a sigh. There's no sign of him yet, so maybe there's time for a quick little power nap. Five minutes would be sufficient, I think… 

… 

...what? 

When I open my eyes, I suddenly find myself on the ground, a horrible pain burning in my head, with Stickshift standing over me, holding something in his hands that I can't quite make out because my vision is blurry with tears of pain. 

Immediately I weakly grab my sword and swing it at him, but he parried it with his own weapon. Metal clashes against metal and my sword is thrown from my grasp because of how powerful his swing is and how weak my grip is. 

I try to reach for it but the boy kicks it away from me. As I watch it spiral away on the dusty ground I realise that I've fucked up. 

The point is driven in further when the boy kicks me in the chest. I gasp and curl into myself, clutching at my ribcage and wheezing loudly. Pathetically. Like a failure would. 

And the point is driven in further still when he lifts his weapon and brings it down upon my head. 

Merrin was right. 

I do let myself get distracted easily. 

I'm a failure. 

And I learned this all too late.


	4. Chapter 4

**_The Victor_ **   
**District Six Male**   
_Maxwell Moriarty_

**19th June, 20 ADD (2220), 5:00 PM**   
_23 Hours, 37 Minutes since Games Conclusion_

Normally, when the Games finish, they don't have the Victor’s interview until the Victor themselves have recovered from any injuries they may have gotten. This year though, the interview is tonight, the day after the Games ended. That's because there are no injuries for me to recover from. Not a single scratch. 

I'm not looking forward to the interview, which will be taking place in an hour, nor the Victor’s banquet at the President’s Mansion afterwards. But I have to go through with it. They'll be tough jobs, but I just have to suck it up and do them. 

That's what my dad always told me, whether it was in regards to chores, work, or surviving the Hunger Games. You can't get around it, you can't avoid it, you just have to do them. No excuses, no complaining. 

I wish my District Partner, Maz, had followed that advice. From practically the second we were reaped all she did was moan, complain and whine about how this whole thing wasn't fair. She did have a point admittedly, but all she did was annoy everyone around us. She didn't seem to realize that there was nothing she could do except make sure she came out on top. 

Alas, she went down in the bloodbath. And all her complaints died with her. 

I think our mentor, Marius, was secretly relieved at that. Being that he was from the Capitol, he already didn't have a particularly flattering opinion of those in the districts, least of all Six, and I'm positive that Maz’s behaviour only made him more agitated. 

I think he's glad that it's me who's still alive and not her. 

Because at least I know when to keep my mouth shut. 

I realise that this whole thing must make me sound very unsympathetic, but that's not it at all. I just don't have the patience for those who refuse to help themselves. And even though I am sad that Maz died, I can't say she didn't have it coming. All throughout training, she would just sit and whinge to anyone who would listen. She never even tried to better her chances by, y’know, actually training. She just wanted her success to be handed to her. I guess that's how you behave when you're from a wealthy family and never had to work a day in your life. 

I, on the other hand, did what I had to do. I don't like it, but that's just how it is. 

That doesn't mean I'm going to easily forget those three tributes whose lives I cut too short. I could do without the memory of their screams, their desperate attempts to stay alive. I'm not going to forget the fact that I have killed. 

But I had to do it. It was them or me. 

And because of that, it's me that lived. It's me that's Victor. 

And, of course, it's me who's name everyone gets wrong. I don't understand why they keep calling me Maxwell when I've told them, multiple times, what I prefer to be called. Naturally, it just goes in one ear and out the other with these people. I've been constantly correcting them, but my patience is wearing thin. 

Especially since my prep team is hovering around me, getting me ready for my interview, all the while telling me things like, “hold still, Maxwell,” or, “let's get your hair combed, okay Maxwell?” 

It was terrible, having to stand there and listen to them call me by my birth name when I've told them over and over again not to call me that. I've given up correcting them at this point. If I didn't know any better I'd think they were purposefully ignoring me. 

And sure, people think that my nickname’s stupid. Sometimes they mock me about it. I don't care. It's my life, and I'll go by whatever damn name I choose. 

Plus, I think it suits me, considering that my job back in Six was to manufacture car parts. Hell, one of my coworkers is nicknamed Wheel, short for Steering Wheel. 

Not that anyone cares. 

Finally, my prep team has finished with me. Now I'm being led away, down the hallways, towards the stage for the interview. Marius falls in step with me. 

“You did great out there, kid,” he says. 

I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't like the way he calls me kid. It's quite condescending. 

Marius clears his throat. “Finally, I don't have to mentor anymore,” he continues. “It's your job now. And let me tell you, it's not fun. On the contrary, it's incredibly frustrating, so you'd better get used to it.” 

Gee, thanks for the advice, Marius. 

Seriously, that's more advice than he ever gave me or Maz before we went into the arena. All he said to us was to not die. Clearly, he'd long since given up on us Six tributes, which is an absolutely lovely thought. 

Thanks for the advice, indeed. 

A little while later, we reach the stage. From where I am in the wings, I can just see part of the crowd, and from what I can tell, it's absolutely packed. It seems like practically every man, woman and child has turned out to see Six’s first Victor. It's a little flattering, in a way. 

Atticus Woolfe is onstage, telling some corny jokes to warm up the crowd. He did this before the tribute interviews, too. His jokes made me want to barf. And judging by the looks on the faces of the tributes from Five and Seven, they felt the same way. 

Finally, the jokes stop and Atticus raises his arm in my direction. The crowd quietens down almost immediately. As a result, Atticus’ booming voice reverberates across the stage, the crowd and practically the whole city. 

“He's silent, he's deadly; he's the one, the only, Maxwell Moriarty of District Six!” 

All of a sudden I feel myself burn with frustration. The idea of everyone referring to me by the wrong name makes me feel angry. Like they don't care about who I am as a person. Well, I know they probably don't, not really, but it doesn't stop me from wanting them to call me by my nickname. 

I march out onstage and I know I must look extremely pissed, as Atticus frowns when he sees me. 

“What-” he doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence before I yell out in my very own booming voice, so I know that everyone can hear me: 

“For the love of god, my name is Gearshift! Stop it with this Maxwell business, and just call me Gearshift!”


End file.
